A Death Along the River Fleet (14 page)

Lady Belasysse coldly surveyed Lucy, taking in her cap that was likely askew, her rumpled dress, and her shoes, still caked with mud and ashes from yesterday's trek through the ruins. “Who might you be?” she asked.
And why do you presume to speak to me?
Lucy could almost hear her add.

“I have been tending to your daughter these last few days,” Lucy replied evenly.

“And a marvelous job she has been doing, too,” Dr. Larimer said.

Lady Belasysse inclined her head. “I thank you.”

“Let us return, then, to the matter at hand. Lucy's question is a good one,” Dr. Larimer said. “I must understand the fallacy concerning this woman's death. You held a funeral for her, for God's sake. Pray, do explain how this strange miscommunication came about.”

Here, Lady Belasysse gave her brother an affronted look. “Harlan,” she said, “I imagine you could explain this ‘strange miscommunication.' I am quite hard-pressed to understand it myself.” Her voice rose slightly. “You informed me that my daughter had died in the last bit of sickness that had come from the plague! That you had looked upon her body before she was buried. You seemed so assured of her death, I should like to know how such an odd thing came about.”

They all turned expectantly to Harlan Boteler, who coughed. “About ten months ago, at the request of her father, Sir John Belasysse, I chaperoned Octavia to London from the family home in Lincolnshire. He wanted to see his daughter before he returned to his post in Tangier.”

“I did not wish her to travel to London,” Lady Belasysse explained, with an appealing look to Mrs. Larimer, who nodded in motherly understanding. “I was concerned that her health was worsening and that she might injure herself during one of her fits.”

Lucy nodded, too, having seen Miss Belasysse's fits for herself. The way she thrashed and flailed about, and became so confused after every fit, it was no wonder that a mother might be worried.

“Yet you allowed me to travel to London anyway,” Octavia said pointedly.

Lady Belasysse pursed her lips but did not speak.

Her uncle shrugged. “It was important to your father that he see you before he left for Tangier.”

Octavia crossed her arms. “And where is my father now? Why did he not join you?”

“He returned to his post a short while ago,” Lady Belasysse replied, frowning slightly at her daughter. “Naturally, we will send him word. I did not like to raise his hopes until I had laid eyes on you myself.” She turned back to her brother. “Harlan, if you would continue? I still do not understand the source of this confusion.”

Harlan glanced at his nephew's wife. “Susan accompanied us as well, with the thought that she would join up with her husband, Henry, at the family's London residence. Hetty here came along, too, to look after the ladies' needs.” He rubbed his hand over his eyes. “We did not realize then that Octavia's condition had progressed so rapidly. She frequently wandered off, in one of her confused states.”

He touched his sister's arm. “My dear, I am rather afraid to say that your concern was foremost in my thoughts. When she disappeared, I thought you had foretold the worst.”

“How did her disappearance come about?” Mr. Sheridan demanded. “We still have yet to hear a clear explanation.”

“Yes, do tell,” Miss Belasysse added, with a funny twist of her lips that wasn't quite a smile. Lucy gave her a quick glance. Did she remember something more than she was letting on?

Susan Belasysse jumped in then. “We three had been invited to dine at the Lord Mayor's house. However, an hour before a carriage was to pick us up, my dearest sister-in-law informed Hetty that she was planning to take a short walk, just down the street. Naturally, we thought nothing of it, for Hetty was still attending to me. When she did not return, we grew worried.” She glanced at Mr. Boteler.

Harlan Boteler picked up the story. “Susan, Hetty, and I searched everywhere, trying to find some clue to what might have happened to her. For hours we searched, and into the night we waited.”

His eyes flicked back to Susan, who gave him a slight nod. “The next morning,” he continued, “I received word that a body matching my lovely niece's description had been found. Drowned. I accompanied the parish priest—of St. Giles—to the pond where they had found the poor woman's body. I went and looked at the body—”

Here, he covered his eyes. “But I did not study the poor soul's face, as I ought to have done, may the good Lord forgive me. So distraught was I by the stillness of the form before me that I closed my eyes when they pulled back the sheet.” He paused. “I told the priest that the dead woman was indeed my niece. God forgive me for the lie that I told. I truly believed, in that moment, that she was dead, and that her death was upon my head.”

“What?” Dr. Larimer exclaimed. “You did not look upon her countenance?”

Mr. Boteler stood up and began pacing about the room. “I was so devastated by guilt and anguish—how can I make you understand? I rushed away from the pond, leaving the priest along the swollen banks with that fair corpse.” He glanced at Susan Belasysse, who made a funny sound, before continuing. “By the time I returned, the priest had already disposed of the body, sending it to a pauper's grave.”

“After the plague, bodies were no longer left untended for long,” Dr. Larimer commented.

Mr. Boteler looked at his sister. “I lied about the nature of her death because I was ashamed of the truth—that I had not looked after her as I had been expected to do.”

Lady Belasysse's face grew pinched. “I received your letter, saying that she had been buried in a common field. The daughter of Lord Belasysse! That could not be borne. We had a private funeral where we lived, at the family seat in Worlaby, in Lincolnshire. Suffice it to say, the casket was empty.” Again she looked at Mrs. Larimer, who nodded.

Mr. Boteler turned back to his sister and took hold of her hand. “Forgive me, Sister. Believe me, this has been a terrible source of anguish for me these long months.”

“That is all fine and good,” Susan Belasysse burst out. “I am quite glad that Octavia is not dead at all. But now we must deal with a more pressing concern. Namely—where is my husband?”

“Hush, Susan,” Lady Belasysse hissed at her. “Now is not the time.”

Everyone turned to stare at Susan Belasysse then.

“My brother?” Octavia said, her face growing ashen. “Whatever do you mean?” she whispered. Lucy could see her hands starting to tremble in her lap.

“Your husband is missing?” Lucy asked.

Susan Belasysse sat back on the bench. “I have not heard from Henry in over a week. He left our home rather abruptly and journeyed to London. He said he had an important matter to take care of that could not wait. I thought he would be staying at the family's London home. Only when we arrived the dim-witted servants said they'd never seen him. Where is he?”

“Perhaps he was delayed, or he had another stop to make before arriving in London,” Mrs. Larimer said. “When did he tell them he expected to arrive?”

“That's just it,” Mr. Boteler said. “They had received no such missive from him, nor has he set foot in the house.”

Lucy pondered this for a moment. Usually, if a family was away and servants were left to tend the house in their absence, word would be sent prior to their return, so that the rooms could be aired and the bedding turned. And as if answering her thoughts, Mr. Boteler added, “The message that we had sent to
him
announcing our impending arrival we found sealed on the table.”

From her seat, Lady Belasysse sniffed loudly. “The servants were quite unprepared for our arrival.”

Susan Belasysse stood up then and stared at her sister-in-law. “Do you not think it strange, that you appear from God-knows-where, and your brother disappears, in the same week?”

Though the question was not addressed to her, Lucy could not but nod in agreement, particularly when she thought of the bloodied state in which she had found Octavia Belasysse four days before. And to think Henry Belasysse, her brother, was now unaccounted for, was rather odd indeed.

Dr. Larimer gave her a shrewd glance, and in that look she knew he was thinking the same thing. He shook his head in silent warning. Now was not the time to speak, Lucy knew that.

“I do not know—it is strange,” Octavia Belasysse said, faltering. “I have not seen my brother for these last ten months.”

Lady Belasysse stiffened in her chair and gave her daughter-in-law a hard stare. “It is not for a wife to question her husband's whereabouts,” she said. “I have no doubt that you misunderstood what my son told you. He is likely attending to business that was not fitting for your sensibilities.” She gave the others a tight smile. “I just wish Susan had seen fit to inform the servants of our arrival.”

“Such a shame,” Mrs. Larimer murmured. She was clearly affronted by the idea that a baroness might be treated in such a scandalous fashion, and in her own home, no less. Then, more brightly, she turned toward Lady Belasysse. “Well, you simply
must
join us for our Easter dinner. Dear Octavia is not yet fit to travel, and I cannot
bear
the thought of you being separated from her for even a moment longer.”

Lady Belasysse inclined her hand graciously. “You are very kind. Given the unfortunate state of our London home, we shall be very glad to accept your kind offer.”

For the next few minutes, the two women and Susan Belasysse continued on in this stilted way, while everyone else sat silently, listening to them speak about the queen and the recent goings-on at court as if this were an ordinary social call.

Throughout the conversation, Octavia sat with her eyes tightly closed. When the women began discussing fans, Mrs. Larimer excitedly recounted how she had just received the most darling lace fan from Spain. “A
man-tee-ya,
they call it,” she said. “Let me fetch it.”

With that, the physician's wife scurried out of the room.

Lucy glanced over at Octavia Belasysse again. The woman had paled further, and her eyes were starting to flutter. This was a look Lucy had seen before, one that she knew foretold the onslaught of the falling sickness.

“Sir,” Lucy whispered to Dr. Larimer, jerking her head toward his charge so that he could take note of his patient's state.

The physician took action at once. “Please, everyone. I must tend to Octavia. She is unwell. Lucy, would you please escort our guests to the drawing room?”

“I wish to stay with my daughter!” Lady Belasysse replied.

“No!” Miss Belasysse replied, through clenched teeth. “Mother, I beg you. Leave me.” She gave Lucy a pleading look.

Gently, but firmly, Lucy began to usher the women to the drawing room before they could protest further.

Hetty, looking quite affronted, gave her a sour look. “Refreshments for my lady?”

“Most certainly,” Lucy said. “I shall have one of the servants bring something in while you wait.”

But the door opened then, and Dr. Larimer entered the room. “I am afraid that Octavia needs to rest,” he said to Lady Belasysse. “I do not think she can withstand any more visits today. Forgive me, but I do believe it is in your daughter's best interest.”

Mr. Boteler took his sister's elbow, and within a few moments they had gathered their belongings and stepped back outside the physician's home.

Their carriage was still outside. A man in livery was standing smartly beside the horses. As Lady Belasysse and Susan Belasysse were being handed into the carriage by Hetty and the driver, Mr. Boteler turned to Lucy. “We will be at the Belasysse home, awaiting Henry's return. Summon us at once, if you will, when Octavia's health has improved.” At Lucy's nod, he swung himself into the carriage after the women.

As the driver moved a limb of a tree branch out of the horses' path, Lucy heard angry voices starting to rise from the carriage. With a quick look about, she sidled alongside the rear wheel of the carriage so that she could hear what they were saying. She had learned a long time ago that having a quick ear and a guarded tongue was to the advantage of every servant. There was something odd about the way the Belasysses were behaving that made her especially curious. She sidled closer, silently so that no one would notice her.

Lady Belasysse hissed something that Lucy did not catch, although she did hear Mr. Boteler's peevish reply. “I believed it was for the best,” he snapped. “Let us not discuss it further.”

“I want to know what happened to my husband!” Susan cried out. “Do you know where he went? Is that why you won't help me find him?”

“My son has likely left you!” Lady Belasysse snarled. The venom in her tone caused a chill to run up and down Lucy's back. “You may be young enough to bear him an heir, but with too little of grace and charm that he should want you at his side.”

At that, the coachman snapped the reins, and the horses jerked forward and began to trot down the cobbled street.

Lucy stared after the disappearing coach until it turned a corner at the end of the road. What had that exchange meant? She shook her head. Something was clearly amiss in their family.

 

11

When Lucy stepped back into the physician's household, Mr. Sheridan was carefully guiding Miss Belasysse up the long set of stairs to her bedchamber above. She had evidently recovered enough to walk, but her face still looked pale. Lucy could see that the young physician was holding her firmly, as if afraid she would break away from him. The sense of possession was once again there, and it made Lucy uneasy.

Mrs. Larimer descended then, a black Spanish mantilla in one hand. “Whatever has happened?” she asked, looking about. “Where is Lady Belasysse? Mr. Boteler?”

Dr. Larimer was watching their slow ascent, a rueful look on his face. “Yet another fit,” he said. “Our
guests
have departed.”